


I May be on the Side of the Angels

by clear_skies



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dom/sub, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Control, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Play, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Someday, Supernatural Elements, non-con, somewhat slow build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:06:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clear_skies/pseuds/clear_skies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock hastened down the street, aware that someone could be following him. It was quite bothersome, the way he couldn’t go anywhere without someone spotting him. It was probably one of them. He should probably call Mycroft, but it was possible he could deal with this one on his own. He wasn’t actually helpless, despite what Mycroft thought. As a matter of fact, he had disposed of a few of them the other day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm not one of them

**Author's Note:**

> There is no non-con in this chapter, but later on perhaps there will be. This is my first fan fiction for archiveofourown and I hope you enjoy

It didn’t make much sense, John thought to himself, as he made his way down the dimly-lit street. I felt something.

It had begun earlier that evening, when John was at the library. He had been reading up on certain aspects of psychology. His small, bleak apartment was getting to be too expensive. He could no longer afford heating, and had taken to spending as much time as he could in public buildings. It was time to get a job, as the money he had earned in the army wasn’t going to be enough anymore.

He had been thinking about becoming a psychologist, as it wasn’t too far from the medical work he had done in afghanistan. The profession itself, was as boring as the empty spaces in his apartment, but it would pay the rent.

John sighed, closing yet another book. He glanced up, and caught the gaze of another man. Something sparked, somewhere deep inside John. The man hurried on, past the many library bookshelves. John found himself standing, and without thinking, began to follow the dark-haired man out of the building, and down the busy streets of London.

There was something about that man, perhaps it was the way his icy blue eyes had changed as they locked gazes. Or maybe it was his appearance, the way the dark coat shifted as he walked, and the way his scarf rested atop his bony shoulders.

Sherlock hastened down the street, aware that someone could be following him. It was quite bothersome, the way he couldn’t go anywhere without someone spotting him. It was probably one of them. He should probably call Mycroft, but it was possible he could deal with this one on his own. He wasn’t actually helpless, despite what Mycroft thought. As a matter of fact, he had disposed of a few of them the other day.They always attacked him when he was least expecting. Well, if he had been a normal one, then he wouldn't have expected them.

They had sprung him when he was making tea. It was a depressing thought, that one couldn't even make tea without being interrupted. He'd taken care of it though, grabbing the nearest gun and shooting away. They had run off, whimpering to their master. One of these days he'd discover who he was. Or she. It seemed odd that they would track him down again so soon. Usually they waited for a few days, even weeks. 

Sherlock turned into an alleyway, stopping abruptly. He’d have to deal with this now, or it might ruin his chances later on. He lay in wait, knowing the man had to pass by the alley. Hopefully this wouldn’t be so boring. His day hadn’t been interesting at all. A cat hissed as he trod on her tail. Sherlock glanced down at her as she scampered off. Taking shelter behind a garbage can, Sherlock began the wait.

John sighed. He’d lost him. The man had turned a corner somewhere, and was nowhere to be found. John continued down the street, ready to hail a taxi. Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of black crossed his vision, then he felt a blow on the back of his head, and all went dark.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John opened his eyes slowly, his head throbbing. He couldn’t move his arms. He tried not to panic. They’d been trained for this in the army, but nothing had ever happened. Nothing like this, anyway. His mouth was full of, what was it, salt. He was tied to a bloody chair. It was getting quite uncomfortable, and John just wanted to go home. 

“What are you?” came a voice.

John spat the salt out of his mouth.

“What?” he spluttered.

“Don’t bore me, I said, what are you?”

“I meant, what do you mean, I’m a human. Aren’t you?”

“Obviously not,”

The man that John had previously been following appeared in front of him, his piercing eyes meeting John’s. John suppressed a shudder, as an electric current traveled up his spine. The man looked uncomfortable for a second, as if he too, had felt it.

“You are quite positive you’re human?” He asked, eyebrows settling in a frown.

“Last time I checked, yeah,” John replied.

“It seems I’ve made a mistake, although judging by the look in your eyes, you’re feeling guilty about something. That of course, would be the fact you were following me today,”

“Hold on, you said you weren’t human, what do you mean?” John said quickly averting the subject.

“I’m an angel. My name is Sherlock Holmes,” The man said, side stepping over John’s feet.

“A what?” John exclaimed, an incredulous look crossing his face.

“Is there something wrong with your hearing?” Sherlock said, slight exasperation cutting through his tone.

“No, I’m just surprised, that’s all,”

Sherlock began cutting through the bonds on John’s wrists with a small pocket knife. His fingers brushed John’s, and both men felt a small magnetic force pulling their hands together. Sherlock pulled his hand back sharply, then continued cutting. John just got more confused.

“What are you doing in London, if you’re an angel?” John asked, standing up now that his bonds had loosened.

The ropes fell to his feet.

“So you believe me, just like that? And angels are all over the world, my brother happens to be in the government,” Sherlock replied, speaking softer now that they were face to face.

John couldn’t take his eyes of Sherlock’s lips. What’s wrong with me?

Sherlock drew his eyes away from John’s, something was happening, and it was quite obvious he needed to experiment.

“Move in with me,” he said, sounding quite indifferent.

John looked taken aback.

“Move in- with you?” he gasped, “Why would I do that?”

“Well you are obviously needing an affordable rent, oh don’t look at me like that, it’s quite obvious. Obviously. Your lack of electricity shows in your less-than spotless appearance. Your hair hasn’t been washed in two days, and your eyes adjust slowly to light. You seem to be running on less power to conserve money. You obviously don’t have a job, seeing as I saw you in the library reading up on psychology, therefore, you’re in need of a place to stay. And because, if you don't, the demons will come and find you. You've come in contact with me, they'll think you have information,” Sherlock explained.

“How did you--what--that was,” John stuttered.

“It was?” Sherlock prompted.

“Absolutely amazing. Wait, demons? ” John remarked.

Sherlock looked surprised.

“Well if angels exist, why shouldn't demons? Honestly, you're as bad as one of my contacts," 

I guess that's logic. I think I’d like to move in with you,” John said, meeting Sherlock’s eyes again.

The same pull was felt between the both of them. Sherlock frowned slightly, and shooed John out of the flat, he would move in the next day.

Sherlock called his brother, Mycroft. He’d never heard of these things happening with their kind. It was interesting and frightening at the same time. 

“What is it Sherlock?” Mycroft grumbled.

Sherlock explained his problem.

“Oh my, didn’t they teach you this in school, brother?” Mycroft chuckled.

“I must have missed that course,” Sherlock retorted.

“It seems you’ve found your soulmate, to put it lightly,” Mycroft said.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Once every lifetime, you meet the ‘special someone’. You will not be able to control them. And, the sex (there was much emphasis on this word) is supposedly fantastic, as you won’t be able to keep your hands off of each other,” Mycroft answered.

“I see. Thanks for the information Mycroft,” Sherlock remarked.

He ended the phone call, and sat back. It would be interesting to see if John truly was his ‘soulmate’ or not. It'd also be nice to catch a break from the cases. Lestrade was getting frustrated with how frequently Sherlock was coming to the station. The poor angel never knew when Sherlock was coming. Molly, though, seemed to enjoy his company more than most. But she was dull. John wasn't.


	2. A Case of Deduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hung up. Sherlock had a mate. This could be fun. Jim loved new toys. He’d be careful at first. No use unwrapping a toy, only to have it break right away. He’d play the game first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for the format I tried so hard to get it the way I wanted it but it was not working. Do forgive me (update: I got the formatting back in check)

John huffed as he carried his suitcase up the stairs. He would have his own bedroom and facilities, which was nicer than he had expected. Sherlock watched him from the parlor with an indifferent expression. John still had two more cases, and it didn’t seem like he’d be receiving any help. The other cases contained his few possessions.

As John was bringing up the second one, he stubbed his toe on the stairs. His shoes didn’t protect him from the sharp corners.

“Bloody hell!” he shouted.

If he had been paying attention to Sherlock at that moment, he would have noticed the flicker of amusement that crossed his face.

“Are you going to help me, or just stand there?” John said, turning to face Sherlock.

“I think you’re doing quite well on your own,” Sherlock replied.

John rolled his eyes and brought in the rest of his things.

The room upstairs was nicer than he had expected. There was a bed with a lovely cover, a nightstand, a half full bookshelf, and a dresser. All of the wood had dark mahogany furnishing. The wallpaper itself was a comforting floral pattern. Through the doors on the left was a bathroom. All the faucets worked, and it was much nicer than his place.

John stood back and admired his work. All of his things were put where he wanted them. He turned around and nearly jumped. Sherlock was standing there.

“Don’t you have anything interesting?” he inquired, stroking the back of the violin bow he was holding.

“Like what? You do realize that I moved here because I had no money, don’t you?” John snapped.

“Ah well, in good time,” Sherlock said quickly, and before John could ask what he meant, he had disappeared downstairs.

John wandered down, it was about time for dinner.

“Sherlock?” he asked, making his way to the kitchen.

“Yes?” came the bored reply.

“Do we have any foo-oh my god!” John gasped.

“There’s a head in your fridge,” he stated.

“Oh yes, I’ve been meaning to clean it out, but I really haven’t got the time,” Sherlock said.

“Alright,” John said.

It seems that living with Sherlock would be even more ‘exciting’ than he had thought.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Jim picked up his phone. It’s incessant ringing was simply excruciating.

“What is it?” he asked, his tone sending a warning.

The answer brought a spark of interest to his gaze.

“And this will bring that insipid ‘detective’ to his knees?” he questioned, a small smile forming on his lips.

“I’ll have to wait? I can do that. I’m a very patient man, you know,” he said, mostly to himself.

He hung up. Sherlock had a mate. This could be fun. Jim loved new toys. He’d be careful at first. No use unwrapping a toy, only to have it break right away. He’d play the game first.  
\---------------------------------------

“John, come down to the station with me please,” Sherlock called, raising his voice to be heard over the tune he was playing on the violin.

“Really? You want me, to come on a case–-with you?” John asked, getting up from his chair by the fire.

“Could I have been more clear?” Sherlock said, but his expression held a little more warmth than his tone.

Sherlock started out the door, not looking back. John grumbled and moved out the door with a little less grace.

Arriving at the scene, John was taken aback. A man lay, spread across an office desk, a gash in his throat. Red stained the carpet around him. His body was battered and cold, bruises forming around his neck.

“This is Lestrade, he’s one of us,” Sherlock told John, gesturing to a man who looked to be in his late forties.

The worry lines on Lestrade’s face gave him a much older appearance. He had probably undergone a lot of stress with his job. Perhaps trouble at home, too.

“John Watson,” John said, shaking Lestrade’s hand.

“You’re a-- friend?” Lestrade asked.

He sounded quite incredulous.

“Flatmate,” John said.

Lestrade didn’t look convinced.

“It’s obviously a serial killer, about six feet tall, weighs approximately a hundred eighty-two pounds. Male, probably brown hair. Shut up, I’ll explain, for those of you who don’t have the intellectual capacity to understand on their own. You see the overhang over the desk, yes? He had to duck, yet he bumped his head. There’s a dent in the wood. The tread in the carpet is deep enough to be a man, and the shoe size, well, I’ll let you figure that out on your own although it looks to be a size 8. I’d expect more murders, there’s probably a pattern, too soon to tell.” Sherlock stated.

“That was--amazing,” John announced, thoroughly in awe.

“Yes, it was,” Sherlock said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Sherlock, that was a great deduction, but we still need to figure out who the killer is,” Lestrade prompted.

“He’s only been running for about two minutes, I think you’ll be able to find him,”

Lestrade and his force immediately left the office, and sirens could be heard down the street. Sherlock turned to John.

“Shall we go?” he asked, and they left.

“John,” Sherlock warned, as they stood outside their flat, about to enter.

“What is it, Sherlock?” John asked, slightly concerned.

“You won’t want to go in there, we’ve got visitors,” Sherlock said, grimacing.

He pushed past John, opening the door to the flat gently. Closing the door slightly behind him, all that could be seen was an unnatural light. It shone brightly, and moved away from the door. A gut-wrenching scream was heard and all was silent.

“You can come in now, John,” Sherlock called.

John slowly eased open the door. Sherlock was standing next to, well what appeared to be, a dead man.

“Sherlock--what--who is that?”

“There’s no need to be alarmed, it was a demon,” Sherlock assured him.

John sank down in his favorite armchair, knees weakening, the soft plaid material grasped firmly in his hands. Sherlock looked mildly concerned, but figured John would be fine in approximately two minutes.

“What was a demon doing here?”

“I suspect it was here for me,”

And for once, Sherlock was wrong.


	3. Fuck Off, I've got an Angel on my Shoulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pillar of black smoke rose from the demon’s mouth, plummeting into the sky. John’s vision tunneled, edges graying. How hard was he hit? Sherlock slipped his hands under John’s back and legs, and lifted him as if he weighed nothing. 
> 
> “Sherlock, put me down!” John slurred, eyes drooping.

John was walking down the pavement, the slapping of his shoes echoing across the alley. He had been to the grocers, and had an armload of food to haul. It wasn’t even that angels didn’t eat, he’d seen Lestrade eat many times. It was that Sherlock didn’t eat. John hadn’t seen him eat once. 

A clutter sounded behind him. John whirled around, only to find an empty alleyway stare back at him. There couldn’t have been a noise. John hurried down the walk again, his brisk pace turning into a small trot. His bloody limp wouldn’t bother him right now, if he had anything to say about it. 

Another crash resounded through tight space, causing John to jog. He looked over his shoulder, and gasped. It was a demon, he was sure of it. The man’s eyes glowed black, the dark color encompassing the whole oculus. He was a tall man, the age of thirty. His blonde hair hung in his eyes. He grinned, showing far too perfect teeth. 

“Bloody hell Sherlock, I’m going to murder you,” John muttered, now full out sprinting. 

A blow was thrown at John’s head, knocking him off balance. He slid across the wet asphalt, coming to a halt at a trash can. His head pounded. 

“Pardon me sunshine, but my master wishes to speak with you,” the demon drawled, picking John up by the collar of his shirt.

“Looking forward to it,” John mumbled, a little dazed by the force of the head injury.

“I’m just going to have to knock you out, is that okay?” the man asked, pulling out a syringe filled with yellow-tinted liquid. 

As the needle punctured John’s skin, a white light began to shine. It grew nearer until, lo and behold, there was Sherlock.

“About---time,” John said sluggishly.

A white light was streaming from Sherlock’s shoulders, and if John squinted (which he was doing by now anyway), he could make out feathers.

“John, stay with me, do you hear me? Stay with me,” Sherlock said, his face painfully close to John’s. 

Sherlock turned around and swung at the demon, and instead of hitting him, his hand came to rest on the demon’s forehead. Sherlock quickly began muttering an incantation. The demon writhed in silent agony beneath Sherlock’s pale hand. 

A pillar of black smoke rose from the demon’s mouth, plummeting into the sky. John’s vision tunneled, edges graying. How hard was he hit? Sherlock slipped his hands under John’s back and legs, and lifted him as if he weighed nothing. 

“Sherlock, put me down!” John slurred, eyes drooping.

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea, seeing as you were injected with tranquilizer,” 

John’s eyes slipped shut. 

“John drink this,” Sherlock said, a much gentler tone than he had ever used before.

He propped John’s head up and tipped warm liquid down his throat. John groaned, the liquid burned as it made it’s way down. 

John sat up, the room spinning around him. He was laying on the couch in the sitting room. Sherlock was leaning over him, holding a cup filled with foul-smelling liquid. 

“Thought this might help the after-headache,” Sherlock remarked, his demeanor slipping back to normal. 

“Thank you, I would’ve died back there, wouldn’t I,” John said, slightly disgruntled. 

“Probably,” Sherlock said.

“Thanks, then,” John muttered, turning slightly red. 

“Be careful John, there’s going to be more where that came from. I’d suggest you stick close to me when you’re on an outing. ”

“Fine,” John told him, seeing as Sherlock had been standing as if waiting for an answer.

Sherlock nodded his head once in acknowledgement and strode away, leaving John alone on the couch. John stood up, a bit shakily, and went to his room. Even though there was no reason he should be tired, he felt worn out and weary. 

\--------------------  
John awoke to a large banging coming from downstairs. He swung his legs over the bed, and rose, forgetting to dress properly before running down. 

Sherlock was shooting at a picture target of a man. The man was slightly balding, with a sharp hook nose, head cropped with light brown hair. His grey-blue eyes looked out from the photo piercingly. 

“Everything okay?” John asked, already aware of the answer.

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock replied, firing more rounds into the photo. 

“Who is that?” 

“My brother, Mycroft,” 

“I see,”

“I like your pajamas, they suit you,” Sherlock said, amusement showing in his usually unreadable expression. 

John glanced down and realized he was wearing his flannels. They were his favorite, actually, little brown bears eating honey covering the print. He blushed, and with a small ‘thank you’ ran upstairs to get changed. 

Sherlock took him out to the station again, another man had been killed.

Lestrade sighed when Sherlock walked through his office doors, but didn’t say anything.

“Meet me at 148 Chaston Street, Sherlock,” he muttered, slipping out of the room. 

John hailed a cab while Sherlock thought. He thought about the previous murder. It was most likely the same killer, as Lestrade seemed to have been rather put down. He was put down, of course, because Sherlock had been correct in his deduction. 

The cab ride was far more pleasant for Sherlock than most in his experience. John joked and talked enough that it wasn’t terribly boring, and Sherlock found himself engaging in conversation. He didn’t often engage, as most people had horribly dull topics to discuss. But there was something about the way John said things, that intrigued Sherlock. Perhaps Mycroft was right, and there was something between him and John. It seems he was improving John’s life as well, seeing as he had forgotten to limp when he was being chased. He hadn’t limped since then. 

Arriving at the scene, they were given passes. The murder was located at a local garden. The flowers were in bloom at this time of year, creating a rather unsettling vibe. 

“Only important cases need passes,” Sherlock whispered to John.

John nodded. A dark-skinned woman walked up to him, accompanied by a shorter, less intelligent-looking man. 

“Sherlock, who’s this? I hear you made a friend,” the woman snorted, looking in John’s direction. 

“John Watson,” John offered, before Sherlock could say anything. 

“Sally Donovan, and this is Anderson,” the woman replied, gesturing towards the man next to her.

“I hope he’s more intelligent in bed than he is in action,” Sherlock said snidely.

“I- What?” Anderson exclaimed, too surprised to deny the accusation. 

“My point exactly,” Sherlock concluded, and with that, disappeared into the maze of flowers.

John apologized to his new acquaintances and followed suit. The heady smell of flowers filled his nose, making him a little dizzy. The lack of fresh air was slightly frustrating. He passed a lovely rose bush, the violaceous petals satiny and soft. The rose is a complicated flower, filled with wanting and desire, but warding off all company with it’s frightening thorns. Solitary flowers, the only neighbors another of their kind. Sherlock was like a rose. 

John rounded another corner and came nose to nose with the victim. He had been hung from a roof of a gazebo. His skin was pale and clammy, red rings around his eyes. He looked to be around forty, just like the previous victim. He was wearing a trench coat, a dress shirt and tie. 

Sherlock was staring at the man thoughtfully, most likely deducing at an impossible speed.

“Got any leads Sherlock?” huffed Lestrade, almost jogging right into John. 

“Same killer, and they’re obviously more connected than you thought. His name is Darren Kingsley and he’s a banker. He was coming out here to meet someone, most likely your killer. Before you interrupt with your ridiculous deductions, let me explain. I know he’s a banker because he works at the bank a block from my flat, and I’ve bumped into him before. He was wearing a watch when he arrived here, and somewhere in the bushes around the gazebo you will find it, along with an invitation. The invitation, of course, will be addressed to your victim by your killer,” 

“I’ll keep an eye out for it, thanks Sherlock,” Lestrade said, turning away. 

“You’re just going to believe him! Just like that?!” Anderson asked indignantly.

“Yes, he’s Sherlock Holmes,” Lestrade said simply.


	4. It's Time to Play the Game, John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While John was sleeping, Sherlock decided it was safe to leave the flat to run some errands, seeing as he hadn’t gotten all the supplies for the experiment he had been meaning to do for quite some time. He phoned Mycroft, knowing that it couldn’t hurt to have some security.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a while, this past week was finals for my school, so on top of being lazy about studying, I was lazy about this. I'm on vacation now, so perhaps I will be able to update more. ~I'm not going to be leaving my hotel room~
> 
> Also FYI I don't have a beta for this fan fiction, so if there are errors I'm so sorry

Sherlock was playing that bloody violin again, and it was time for John to sleep. 

“Sherlock! I’m trying to get some sleep, so if you don’t mind,” John called from his uncomfortable position on his bed.

“But John, it’s only--(there was a pause as Sherlock glanced at his watch) --3AM,” Sherlock returned, playing another chord on his confounded instrument.

“Some of us would like to get some shut-eye, Sherlock. I’m terribly sorry if it is an inconvenience to your mucking about, but it’s time for bed,” John said, wincing when Sherlock’s violin made a loud squawking noise. 

“It helps me think,” Sherlock announced, and continued playing. 

“Bloody hell Sherlock, at least play outside,” John said, feeling his eyes drooping. 

“I don’t think that will be necessary, judging by the fact you’re going to fall asleep in three-two-one,” Sherlock said, an audible smile in his voice as John’s eyes completely closed.

While John was sleeping, Sherlock decided it was safe to leave the flat to run some errands, seeing as he hadn’t gotten all the supplies for the experiment he had been meaning to do for quite some time. He phoned Mycroft, knowing that it couldn’t hurt to have some security. 

“What is it brother,” Mycroft sighed, “What have you done this time?” 

“Why is it that whenever I call, you assume I’ve done something wrong?” Sherlock snapped, but softened his tone, knowing he wouldn’t get what he wanted without being ‘nice’. 

“So what do you want? It’s 3 AM, and I’d like to go back to sleep,” Mycroft asked.

“Would it be possible to have two of your security guards stationed outside Baker Street? I’m leaving the flat, and John’s still asleep,” 

“Whatever you need, brother,” Mycroft told him.

Sherlock didn’t appreciate the condescending tone in Mycroft’s voice, but decided to let it go. 

He hailed a taxi, and drove off into the night.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John awoke to a frighteningly loud crash. A flash of white light caught his attention. The flash had come from outside, so unless there was an angel out there, nothing could’ve made that outburst. 

“Sherlock?” John said, still tired, but worried. 

Shouting began, as John made his way downstairs. Why couldn’t he have chosen a normal place to live in? John reached the living room, and opened the door cautiously.

The sight greeting him was not was he had been expecting at all. Two men --angels-- were sprawled out on the ground. Their wings had been torn from their backs, by someone, or something, and black blood was pooled around their limp bodies. 

John gasped, as a man appeared right in front of him. His dark brown hair short and spiky, a dark suit sitting on his well-kept form. The only reason John was scared, was that the man’s eyes. One moment they had this dead, cold look in them, and that was scarier than what came next. The man’s eyes clouded with black, until they were entirely dark. 

“Wh-who are you?” John stammered, taking a second to find his tongue. 

“Oh dear, I’m surprised Sherlock hasn’t told you about me. Jim Moriarty, dear,” the man said, grinning in a way that would have been pleasant if his eyes hadn’t been bloody black.

“Are you--a--demon?” John asked, already knowing the answer. 

His legs were weakening, and all he wanted was to go back to bed. The adrenaline rush that should have been flooding him hadn’t hit yet, and instead he was feeling more tired than ever.

“Aw, aren’t you cute. I could just, eat you up!” Jim chuckled.

“I suspect you’re having a hard time talking aren’t you, darling?” Jim continued, still speaking in such a pleasant tone, that John couldn’t help nodding. 

His tongue felt like lead in his throat, and when he tried to speak, all that came out was a croak. He wasn’t feeling scared anymore. “That’s right, you’re feeling nice and tired now aren’t you, John,” came a voice in his head. John nodded again, a dopey smile spreading across his face. 

Jim smiled, it wouldn’t take much more persuasion before John was completely at his mercy. The man was already swaying on his feet, eyes glazed and focused on nothing. 

Suddenly John bolted upright, almost startling Jim himself. 

“What are you doing to me?” he whispered, trying to overcome the suggestions his own mind was pushing on him.

“Well, looks like you’re more capable than I thought. I love it when they fight back,” Jim said to no one in particular. 

“What?” John asked, feeling himself succumb once more.

He dropped to his knees, a nap sounded good right about now. If Sherlock hadn’t kept him up all night, perhaps he wouldn’t be so damn tired. The pavement stretched out in front of him, cold and inviting. Maybe just a quick rest, John thought, and he was out like a light.

Jim hefted John into his arms, and carried him to the car waiting by the corner, the black-tinted windows foreboding and deadly. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“John wake up, I’m not letting you sleep all night,” Jim crooned, petting John’s hair softly.

John groaned, trying to open his eyes weakly. Maybe if he didn’t open them, none of this would be real. 

“John, I’m getting impatient. Lord knows you wouldn’t like me when I’m impatient,” and with that, the hands caressing John’s locks gripped tightly, and a sharp pain flooded through his skull. 

John’s eyes snapped open, and his gaze rested on the man--demon-- who had done something funny to his brain. 

“Now, John, I expect you know a man who goes by the name of Sherlock Holmes, is that a correct assumption?” Jim said, his voice slightly too sweet.

“I--I--no I don’t really know him,” John grunted.  
“Oh dear John, I really wish you’d tell me the truth. You will tell me the truth, won’t you?” Jim prompted.

John felt the pull again, in the back of his mind. He wanted to obey this man, there was just something about the way he spoke, that made John want to do whatever Jim pleased. “It’s mind control you dolt,” John told himself. It didn’t matter, John couldn’t resist when the pull came again. It felt so nice to slide under the spell, instead of the struggle that came when he resisted. 

“But I am telling the truth,” John murmured, meeting Jim’s eyes. 

At least they weren’t black this time, instead it was just the dead look, with a touch of crazy. There was definitely something shadowing Jim’s eyes, and it could only mean crazy. 

Jim looked surprised, as if he hadn’t planned this. 

“Well, let’s get on with it then. I’m feeling rather worked up, would you like to eat some dinner?” Jim said, smiling.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” John muttered, forcing the words onto his heavy tongue.

“Oh, I think you’ll want energy for what we’re going to be doing later, but I won’t force you,”

“Then I think I’ll pass, thanks,” John grimaced.

Jim shrugged, and exited the room. John took the opportunity to take in his surroundings. It was a high-end room, with Victorian furniture and lots of gold. At least I got a classy demon, thought John. He knew he should be trying to escape, but there wasn’t any use. Jim would catch him before he could take two steps out the door.

“John, come here,” came Jim’s voice from what could only be the kitchen.

John trudged into the room, gasping when a cold breath blew in his ear. A body pressed up against him, and he wanted to shy away, but couldn’t. A hand drew around his waist. 

“Don’t you want to make Sherlock jealous? I’m sure it would really get under his skin if you submitted,” Jim said, putting his other hand on the nape of John’s neck.

John bent under the weight of the hand, forced to look at Jim’s shoes instead of meeting his eyes. Moriarty’s voice washed over him. 

“John, I want you to head down the hall, and go into the third door on the right. I want you undressed and awaiting any and all commands I give you,” Jim said, firmly, but still with tha sickly sweet air. 

John nodded, not looking up even when the man’s hand was removed from his neck. It seemed only polite. There was a nagging thought in the back of his mind, and he just couldn’t pull it forward, he just wanted to obey. 

As he walked into the room, he was almost shocked right out of his submission. The walls were a dark mauve, the wallpaper mysterious, but threatening. There was a gigantic four poster bed, gold-lined black satin sheets and all. It was like something out of a bondage club. It was ridiculous, is what it was. His hands moved of their own accord, removing his jumper, then undoing the button on his pants. When he was done undressing, he sat, naked, on the edge of the bed. 

“Aw sweetheart, you followed directions!” Moriarty exclaimed, sounding genuinely delighted. 

John spoke, “What are you going to do to me?”

“You’ll see,” Jim singsonged.


	5. Please, Sir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another rough slap. Followed by another, and another, and another. John’s ass ached and he couldn’t do it anymore. “P-please, fuck me,” he cried. 
> 
> “Who are you talking to?” Jim asked, his pleasant tone driving John mad. 
> 
> “Please fuck me sir,” John said, with no hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long to write, I just wasn't in the zone for sex scenes I suppose.

“I think you’ll find you can’t move your hands from where I’ve placed them,” Jim said pleasantly, putting John’s hands stretched over his head, wrists crossed as though he was tied up. 

John tested the suggestion, trying to lift his arms. They wouldn’t budge. He wanted to care about this, he really did, but it just wasn’t possible. He was almost comfortable, lying on his stomach. He greatly preferred laying on his back, just to feel that sliver of control. It didn’t seem like his preferences were in mind. 

“Now John, when’s the last time you had sex?” Jim asked, smiling rather viciously. 

“A-about a year ago,” John admitted.

Jim looked absolutely pleased at that, smile stretching even wider over his teeth. He began trailing his hands lightly up John’s thighs, laughing lightly under his breath as the man writhed beneath his touch. Sherlock’s pet certainly was a fine man, sturdy build, muscles stiff from use, but certainly still there. There was a fine trail of sandy blonde hair dusting his lower stomach. Sherlock had chosen well, Jim decided, rubbing small circles on the soft skin near John’s crotch. John gasped and bucked his hips, earning a sharp slap on the thigh from Moriarty. 

“No moving unless I tell you, right John?” 

John almost nodded, but caught himself. Moriarty seemed to be giving him some control, just to see what he would do with it. It wouldn’t benefit him to disobey, so he didn’t. 

Jim took John’s half-hard shaft in his hand, stroking painfully slow, coaxing John into full hardness. 

There wasn’t any reason John should be turned on, but he couldn’t help it. He moaned as Jim stroked faster. The pleasure rushing through him was almost unbearable. Just as the pressure in his groin felt as though it would burst, Jim released John’s cock. His fingers traced John’s swollen hole, earning a sharp gasp from the squirming man beneath him.

“Have you ever been fucked by a man, John?” Jim asked, giving him permission to speak.

“N-no,” he spat, crying out when Jim slapped his thigh sharply again.

“No, sir,” he corrected.

“No s-sir,” John stuttered.

Jim moved away from John for a few seconds, rustling in a drawer before slipping his finger slowly into the helpless man beneath him. John gasped as the cold lube on Jim’s finger made it’s way inside him. At first there was only pain, as his hole was stretched, but then, Moriarty added another finger and oh, that was the spot. The a burst of pleasure sparked in John’s groin. A third finger was added, and John couldn’t help pushing himself back on the obstructions, trying to get them deeper. 

“I don’t think so, darling,” Jim sang, pulling all three fingers out instantly. 

John moaned at the loss, feeling empty and needy. He tried to move his hands, forgetting he couldn’t. It was so hard to have so little control over himself. 

“You’ll notice I haven’t punished you for noise,” Jim said, pouting ever-so-slightly.

“Thank you sir,” John gasped, as the fingers returned, all three at once.

“You learn fast, I’m impressed,” 

“Th-thank you sir,” John said, the praise sending a warm tremor down his spine. 

Jim continued to slide his fingers in and out of John until he was a squirming, hot, mess. Finally John shoved his red face into a pillow, spitting gibberish from his mouth. Jim pulled his head up by the hair, whispering in his ear,

“Beg for it,”

“What?” John moaned, trying so hard not to push into Jim’s grasp.

“Beg me to fuck you,” 

“I can’t,” John whimpered, shifting so his cock ground into the mattress. 

Another rough slap. Followed by another, and another, and another. John’s ass ached and he couldn’t do it anymore. “P-please, fuck me,” he cried. 

“Who are you talking to?” Jim asked, his pleasant tone driving John mad. 

“Please fuck me sir,” John said, with no hesitation. 

A pleased look crossed Jim’s face. He took the lube, spreading a generous amount on his hands, then slicked up his cock. He nudged John’s entrance carefully, not wanting to ruin the progress he’d gotten with him. 

John cried out as Jim slid in. He didn’t want this, he didn’t, but in the heat of the moment his cry was one of pleasure. Jim hit John’s prostate on the first go, causing the man to keen. A slow rhythm was set up. There would be time for speed later. John practically wailed beneath him, as Jim hit his prostate with more force. He was so very tight. It was a wonder Sherlock hadn’t taken advantage of him, mate or not. 

John clenched, causing Jim to gasp. 

“Don’t you dare come yet,” he whispered heatedly in John’s ear. 

John whimpered, trying fiercely to obey the orders. He had never come untouched, and especially not while being fucked. He had never been fucked, for gods sake. The pressure building in his groin was unbearable. 

Jim built up the pace, until he came, at last. He pulled out of John, whispering encouragingly. 

“This is for your own good, alright?” he said, pulling a cock ring over John’s dick. 

Even that touch sent John crying out. 

Jim ran his hands up John’s sides, up his chest, until they came to rest at his collarbones. He leaned over and began sucking on a very sensitive spot on John’s neck. John tried to shift his hips so he could get some sort of friction, because no one had ever thought to test the sensitivity of his neck. 

Jim continued sucking, until the blood was brought up to the skin, a sizeable bruise forming. He ran his hands further down, twisting and playing with John’s nipples. John’s breathing was coming in sharp pants, his cock a deep red. 

“I bet no one’s ever touched you like this before, have they John?” Jim said, nibbling on John’s ear, then biting down hard. John climaxed, except, he didn’t. He would have, if it wasn’t for the bloody cock ring. 

Jim giggled, just once, and bent down to stroke John’s straining cock. 

“I bet you want to come, don’t you,” he drawled, stroking John’s hair lightly. 

“Y-yes sir,” John gasped desperately.

“Then come,” came the command, as Jim took off the restraint.

John climaxed instantly, come pulsing out of his cock, in thick white globs. He had never come this much in his entire sex life, and it left him exhausted. 

“You did well,” Jim said, stroking John’s hair. 

John sighed, his eyes drooping. He couldn’t move a muscle.

“Your hands are free, not that you can move them anyway,” Jim told him, placing John’s hands gently by his sides. 

John fell asleep against his will, as Jim cleaned up.

Jim was satisfied, he was one step closer to breaking John. Sherlock would be looking for them by now. All was going accordingly to plan.


End file.
